Small Swords  Chapter One
by seeyoustandingthere
Summary: My latest take on how Sara and Grissom got together.. this is my cross to bear. Sara tries to move on, but no dice. Story hopefully better than summary! Chapter One of Three or Four.
1. Chapter 1

_Dislclaimer: They're not mine, although I'd love them to be. I own nothing but these words._

Small Swords

She thought of things as before the wedding, and after it. When the call had come in, she had grumbled to herself, imagining a fete of either extravagance or bawdy tack. There would be people, far too many people to make questioning a nightmare. As Grissom had come in to the break room to gather the team, she had taken the address of the scene and driven herself. In part she was afraid of being seen to always ride with him, much as she liked to. She didn't need anyone asking questions, least of all when it would only serve to remind her that there was absolutely, definitively, depressingly, nothing to know. In part she was looking ahead to the ride home and imagining she would want to be alone. The truth was, weddings made her sad. Reminded her that she had no real family. They felt like something that would never be for her. Even if she was lucky enough to find someone who would go the distance, there would never be a day like this, not for her. She told herself she didn't mind, didn't need it, and made her way across the grass towards where the action seemed to be. She could see uniforms in the distance, and then to her right she passed David, kneeling with the body on a bloody gravel path. He said something about wearing white, and she smiled, although it only registered as something cliched about weddings that she wasn't going to care about.

Ahead of her was an arbour, separating the house and the road from the wedding party .As she passed through it, a green and white haven, sunlight filtered through the branches like pieces of gold. Going in, it made her roll her eyes, but coming out, something had changed. The walk had been slow, and had allowed her for a split second to picture what that might be like, that passage from alone to together, from single to tied. She ducked slightly, brushed the fingers of one hand along the wall of flowers. When she emerged, she saw Grissom talking to the bride. The image was striking, more so for the fact that the picture of him with a beautiful woman in white was not altogether bizarre. In a snapshot he could have been just another man marrying another woman. She could imagine his wedding photographs, but not her own.

Yes, there was nothing to know. Lately they had become closer, but even as that had brought such pure joy, it had also brought a certain degree of clarity - they were _very_ good at being friends. It seemed as soon as they had settled into it and stopped trying to make things happen, the tension had evaporated and she had been able to smile again. The pressure off, he was comfortable being close to her, and they had even managed to see each other outside of work. They had shared a few evenings, one or two lunches. It wasn't a conscious decision, it just seemed to have happened, a phrase she once thought she would reserve for something else entirely.

There had been no ceremony, no moment, no one asking the other, no awkwardness. Being the last two left in Frank's after a team breakfast had helped things along. They had been deep in conversation with Catherine about a case, finishing their coffees after Nick, Greg and Warrick had gone home. Catherine was always the first to arrive and the last to leave, enjoying every minute of her limited social life. The three of them made an unnatural party, so the conversation stayed with work. As the waitress came over to refill their coffee cups, Catherine's phone was ringing. A moment later she was hanging up and standing up, tossing a note onto the table.

"Lindsey." It was explanation enough, and she was gone with a frustrated wave. It might perhaps have spelt the end of the occasion, but their cups newly filled, it seemed too much of a statement to bring things to a close immediately. They stayed, drank their coffee, and found that simple conversation wasn't half as difficult as they had feared. In fact, it was a pleasure, and when Sara had got up to leave, Grissom had almost looked disappointed. A few days later they had happened in to each other in the hall at the end of their shift, and it had seemed natural for him to ask if she wanted to get breakfast. Natural, too, for her to say yes.

And so they slowly grew into a kind of comfort zone, occasional friends, and before she could decide how it felt he was calling her on her night off, just now and again. They avoided things that could be construed as romantic. No movies, no dinner dates. They sought solace in the benign, not allowing themselves to wonder about what lay beyond. A seminar that they both wanted to go to seemed safe. A coffee shop on the way from the police station to the lab made sense, and was something they often did individually so why not together? Her apartment, once or twice, when she had an article or a case file he needed wasn't ludicrous – she always took work home. His apartment, when she gave him a ride would have been dangerous, if she had stepped out of the car. They talked, a lot, more than they had been able to before, now that the way was clear.

Rather, clearer. Sara still tripped up now and again. When his name appeared on her call display she still got butterflies, although she played it cool when she picked up. If ever she opened the door to find him there, she was lost for a moment. But these were small things, minor setbacks, and she knew that she had to get past them, for her own sake. She knew that to have him like this was better than to not have him at all.

She was resigned to this. Not unhappy with it. But as she came out of that tunnel, things just felt...different.

Grissom was hot. It was a beautiful day for a wedding, and he privately enjoyed the irony of that in light of the reason they were there. The scene around him was so vast, distracting for the sheer number of people involved. He felt small. He turned, caught sight of Sara emerging from the tunnel, the shadows of someone else's roses falling over her face. Her face was growing ever more familiar to him these days, something he saw more often than he used to. He had been right to fear more between them, because what they were beginning to find now was worth so much. She was a great friend, and he loved her company, and he loved how innocent it could be. Yet now, bathed in the strong sunlight, he could scarcely deny her beauty. She was every bit as incredible as the woman in the wedding dress he was questioning. He faltered, looking over the shoulder of the bride, and then recovered, snapping back to the reality of the tragedy at hand.

She thought she had seen Grissom look, but she couldn't be sure, and it would not have meant anything to him anyway. Reminding herself she was not to be disappointed by these things any more, she looked around her, seeing any number of handsome, eligible men, suited and groomed, and thought that even for her, there had to be something out there to distract her, if only momentarily.

When the best man had approached her, Sara had actually felt something. He was sweet, and looked good in his tuxedo. She let him flirt with her, without feeling the need to be defensive. Before, she would have shot him down. Before, she would have thought of Grissom and uttered something acidic. No-one else had been good enough for a long time. Now, her defences were down, and she wasn't looking for a boyfriend. She felt a new compassion towards other men, though, slightly sheepish for the years of short sharp rejections she had issued. In spite of their new dimension, she knew that if Grissom noticed the attention this guy was paying her, that couldn't hurt. And it was nice to feel attractive, to someone, even if that person was a potential suspect. So she was professional, but with a smile, and she let him talk the talk.

Grissom let the bride go, after taking her statement. Turning around in a circle, scanning the grass for his next move, he noticed the man in the suit talking to Sara. He noticed her body language, and took a moment to process it. Perhaps they were flirting, more likely she was just being approachable. She was good like that, better than he was. They made a good team sometimes purely because she could be warm when he was only quiet. He watched her tuck her hair behind her ear and savoured the image. She was nice to look at, and his new self lived vicariously through the man who used to be flushed hot by her every step. Before, he used to try not to look. Now, he watched her intently, but told himself that as her friend there was no reason not to. It was a very happy compromise.

When Nick's car was stolen, and the team were grounded until Internal Affairs could get there, Sara didn't mind. Work was her happy place, and she never felt more constructive or worthy than when she had put in a long shift and plenty of overtime. The thought of a double wasn't a bad one. Nick and Greg did not share her enthusiasm, and paced until they ran out of energy, when they retired to the break room to sit it out. Sara hovered, walking the halls and working as much as she could with the majority of the evidence missing. She was waiting for the honeymoon car to arrive at the garage - that was when she would hit her stride. In its absence she looked in on Grissom to see if there was anything she could do there.

"No," he said, taking off his glasses. "I'm at a standstill too." She nodded, leaning on the door frame, deflated that there was no work. She needed the current of the day to carry her along - standing around was painfully frustrating. Grissom looked equally ruffled, and motioned for her to sit on the couch in his office. She did, bringing her knees up to her chest, hugging them to her as she exhaled slowly.

"Weird day," she said, smiling.

"Two rites of passage rolled into one."

"Two that are never supposed to share the same stage," she said. Grissom raised his eyebrows.

"Indeed."

"Best and worst day of your life." Sara couldn't imagine that feeling. Couldn't imagine saying to anyone, wholeheartedly, in all truth, that any day was the best day of her life. She didn't have best days. She had days that were brighter than others, days that made her feel good about her job, accomplished, and even days that made her feel more comfortable with herself. But the best day of her life? She couldn't think what that would be, it seemed too strong a title for anything. She supposed that was because she had never had a Vegas wedding.

"Not if you were the bride. She seemed to think she'd had a lucky escape."

"She still married the guy. Doesn't sound like a lucky escape to me."

"Ah, cynicism, thy name is Sidle." They both smiled. She was a cynic, she knew. She had the right. She had had her share of the things in life that justified being that way. She had had plenty of worst days. It was what kept her honest, and it was her unorthodox combination of utter cynicism and human compassion that made her a good criminalist. She easily believed people capable of the worst things they could do to each other, and it made her fight for those they did it to. Ecklie called her hot headed.

Grissom looked at her with her knees drawn up in half hearted defence. She was a cynic, but she had more emotion than anyone he had ever worked with. She was unpredictable but frequently brilliant. She broke the rules sometimes, and he had to rein her in. She blurred the lines sometimes, and he had to throw the book at her. She called into question everything she believed in now and again, letting the weight of the work affect her heart and her mind sometimes, and he had to admire her. He called her passionate.

"You look tired," he said, softly.

"I'm okay."

"I'm going to make some coffee." He got up, and for a moment she wondered if that was a cue for her to leave his office. But he held up a hand as he wandered out, giving her leave to remain. She let her knees go and stretched out, crossing one ankle over the other. She looked around the familiar space, taking in the curiosities it contained. She felt their bond was strongest in this room, it was so very _him_. She felt close to him amongst the plants and samples in here, and sometimes when he wasn't there she found an excuse to come in. Just for a second, to connect with him in some small way, when all other ways were barred. Until their recent cease fire, the small things had been all she had.

Minutiae mattered to Sara. In science, the truth was in the detail. In her mind, often the only sanctuary was in understanding. She had to know exactly what was going on. To arm herself against anything untoward, anything debilitating, anything that would weaken her defences. She had been caught short plenty of times, mostly by him. He had spoken words to her that had slain her – taken her down with gracious, glorious, thudding strikes. _Since I met you._ Crash. _ I need you. _ Down. _Honey, this doesn't look good._ On her knees. She had fought back, given him his fair share of surprises. More, perhaps, than fair. _You want to sleep with me?_ Shock. _Why do you think I moved to Vegas? _Resounding blow. _Pin me down_. Half serious. With half smiles they allure and allude, drawing each other in and then beating each other off. It is a beautiful war they have waged, tiny battles fought with small swords.


	2. Chapter 2

_Dislclaimer: They're not mine, although I'd love them to be. I own nothing but these words._

Small Swords Chapter Two

Eventually, the world began to move. Internal Affairs arrived, Nick's car was found, and the case could proceed, although causing great frustration to them all with the loss of most of the evidence. Sara worked into exhaustion, and then gratefully, weightlessly, headed home. She passed Grissom in the hall as she carried her kit towards the front door. He stopped mid stride, file in hand.

"You're going?"

"Yeah. Unless you need me for something?" He looked at her, smiled kindly. He could see she was tired.

"No."

"Goodnight, then." She smiled at him, and looked at the tiny lines around his eyes that she loved. He was so real. She wanted to ruffle his hair, to smooth her hand down his face.

"Goodnight Sara," he said, in no rush to walk away from her. She picked up her kit. It always seemed heavier when she was tired. She walked slowly down the hall towards the light of day. As she pushed through the door she turned, and as her eyes grazed the floor behind her she saw the shadow of him still standing there.

Grissom watched her go. He seemed to be always letting her go. She was tired, and he saw the sag in her shoulder as she carried her kit case. He wanted to take it from her, carry it to the car for her. He knew that he wouldn't, and shouldn't, but he wanted to. He wondered if he would see her this weekend, and then wondered if that was such a good idea. He would see her that night at work. That, he tried to convince himself, might be enough.

That weekend, Sara did something highly unusual. She met a man. In a surreal and almost alarming coincidence, she ended up having breakfast with him _and_ Grissom. They weren't the only ones there, of course, a small mercy she would later be thankful for. After a typically frantic Vegas Friday night, overtime and backlogs running into unknown figures, they had all ended up still working as Saturday dawned. It was midday before they could leave, and there were no excuses offered as the inevitable team breakfast approached. Everyone wanted in on it, after a night like that. Two particularly gruesome homocides, a six-car pile up and a casino jumper. They deserved it, and this time Catherine shut off her phone as she ordered.

He was a friend of Nick's, a police officer that Nick had presented a case in court with, now a sometime buddy. He was seated in the window, alone, out of uniform, when they walked in. Nick went straight across to greet him. A moment later, Nick was back, asking if anyone minded his friend joining them. Of course, no-one would, and when he was unveiled as a fellow law enforcer, they made him feel welcome. His name was Drew, and he sat between Catherine and Warrick like he had always known them – like he knew that occasionally Catherine and Warrick really _needed_ someone to intersect them, to keep them on the straight and narrow. It didn't feel like an intrusion, and as he and Nick talked about the case they had worked together, they all accepted Drew's easy manner. He was pleasant breakfast company, no more, no less.

Sara regarded him quietly, always the last to cast her vote where new people were concerned. She liked to see what everyone else thought first. She didn't like to be the first to believe. Nick seemed to regard him highly, and Sara trusted Nick's judgement, knowing he didn't give his approval lightly. Other than that, she didn't give it much more thought. At first. Once the plates had been cleared and the coffees refilled, Greg, Grissom and Warrick fell into a deep discussion about chain of custody. Catherine listened as she flipped her cell phone open, reluctantly turning it back on. Nick went to the restroom. Sara sank back into the chair and savoured her coffee. Drew turned her way, fixed her with the most beautiful smile, and said,

"Sara, right?" She nodded, swallowing the elixir that would keep her awake on the drive home. She was exhausted again, and perhaps a little off guard, she would think later.

"Nick's mentioned you." She nodded again, blinking as she acknowledged a time when Nick might have mentioned her. When she might have mentioned Nick. If only for a short time. If only a temporary lapse.

"He mentioned that you're brilliant with cars." She was surprised. Not that he might think that, but that of all the things Nick could have said about her, that would be it. Not that she was highly strung. Not that she was opinionated, or emotional, or that a dead pig experiment had prompted her to become vegetarian (the guys had liked that), not even that she was a relentless, detail-obsessed perfectionist.

"He also mentioned you're a bit of a perfectionist." She laughed, involuntarily, as though he had read her mind.

"Me, too, " he continued. His manner was relaxed, and although she was partly bemused by the conversation they were having, she wasn't uncomfortable. Which, for Sara, was saying something. Effortlessly, he drew her into a conversation about the common ground between his job and hers. For some reason she felt compelled to talk to him, not least because he chose her favourite subject. More because she sensed it was close to him, too, and that here was another rare individual who took his work right to heart. Like her. Like.. She pushed that thought away quickly, registering that Grissom was still embroiled with Greg and Warrick. He wasn't thinking about her.

Grissom could talk on autopilot, when he had to. Today, he had to. He let Greg engage him, heard Warrick join in, and was aware of Catherine pressing buttons on her cell over the table. All of that demanded about seventy five percent of his brain activity. The rest was unequivocably dedicated to eavesdropping. He had heard Drew say her name, and immediately his curiosity was aroused. He waited for her to be contrary, or caustic even, as she could be sometimes. He knew she wouldn't let herself be dragged into having a conversation she wasn't interested in, especially if it wasn't in a professional capacity and she wasn't obligated under anyone's remit. Sometimes, Sara didn't play well with others. Secretly, Grissom was glad of this, although he would never say so out loud. It allowed him to keep her close, never fearing foreign bodies. No cross contamination.

This time, though, he was surprised to hear that her tone was light, and she talked easily to this man. Alarm bells not immediately ringing, Grissom listened with one ear as he maintained his part in Greg's conversation with the other. He heard her laugh. The sound ran lightly down his spine. As their conversation progressed, and Sara became engrossed, Grissom chastised himself for what he was doing. Friends, they had said, and friends they had become. His choice, their best interests, now his cross to bear. Friends didn't pay such close attention. Friends didn't treat each other's interaction with strangers as evidence to be analysed. Tearing his attention away from her, Grissom grimaced slightly, for the first time ever not entirely glad to have his hearing intact.

Drew was charming, she had to admit. Non threatening. Not once did he make any allusion towards anything remotely sexual. So why, after talking about work for a whole thirty minutes, had she been left wondering if he was going to? Not going so far as to admit she wanted him to, Sara tried to fathom her feelings as she sat easily across from him, still talking. He was beautiful, no denying it. Deep brown hair, lots of it, and a firm, square jaw. Not quite chiselled, she thought, berating herself for even attempting to use that word. _Chiselled_. _What am I_, she thought, _a romance writer_? She took a deep breath and let it all go, rationalising as she was adept at. There was a handsome, endearing man holding her interest in an entirely enjoyable way. There was another man, also handsome.. no, she wouldn't list those things, not now. There was another man, but he didn't want her. She was single, decidedly so. There had been so many chances for the other man to avoid this day ever coming, but he had not, and they were, however tentatively, surviving as friends. Having a friend should not stop her appreciating another man. And that was all she was doing, appreciating, feeling refreshed and challenged by the coffee and conversation. When breakfast was over, she would drive home, feeling happily sated and nothing at all else.

It all went to hell, anyway. Grissom left, squeezing out from the booth opposite her while she was still hemmed in. She didn't immediately notice, assuming he was paying his check, or talking to the waitress as he did sometimes. Drew kept talking, or rather, they kept talking, and when she looked up, Grissom was gone. Catherine, Greg and Warrick were by the door. Nick was still drinking coffee beside them. Sara felt self conscious then, more so because she didn't altogether want to stand up and leave. She did, though, joining the group at the door. Nick and Drew walked behind her, talking easily. She said goodbye to Catherine, and waved as Warrick and Greg got back in Warrick's truck. She headed for her car, and turned briefly to say goodbye to the men following her.

"Bye Sara," Nick said, patting down his pockets for his keys. Sara took a deep breath and wondered what she was about to do even as she knew that against all better judgement she was doing it. She held out her hand, and smiled, very warmly.

"It was ..very nice to meet you Drew." Simple enough, but she knew as she blushed that she had somehow loaded her voice. It was in his eyes, too, as he finally put two and two together and shook her hand for a moment longer than was necessary.

"You too." She turned quickly and walked to her car, feeling his eyes bore into her.

He called before she'd even got home. Nick had given him her number, he confessed, and without broaching the question of why he was calling or in what capacity he wanted to see her, he said that he would like to, and wondered if she would have coffee with him. With no mention of it being a date, and with the memory of the sparkling conversation she had to admit had stimulated her earlier, Sara didn't think to say no. She didn't think there was anything to it. She thought this would be another man she would be friends with. She heard Grissom in her head. _You deserve to have a life._ Well, then, intelligent conversation over coffee was on her list of things that would make up such a life.

She was relaxed as she walked into the coffee shop later that day. A few hours left before work, perfect time to take on extra caffeine and get her mind working. She only sat for a minute or two before she saw him drive up. He got out of his truck and skipped lightly up the steps to the door. She took in what he was wearing, and approved, but thought no deeper than that. Their coffee talk went the way of their breakfast talk. They were engrossed within minutes, and it did not take many refills for Sara to begin to feel like she had known him all her life. He was so warm, so open. He told her things she didn't even think to wonder about, how he was raised on a farm in Iowa, how his parents now ran a roadside diner there. That his older sister married a cop when he was a teenager, and that it drove him into the same profession. That he transferred to Henderson six years ago, following a woman he was sure he would marry. That he had applied to Vegas PD when he had realised she had outgrown him. That he missed home sometimes, that he didn't blame the woman, and that he didn't mind living anywhere, so long as there was work to be done.

He was philosophical about everything, and had the simple, wise manner of one who has been through and around so many things. He was down to earth, but accomplished. He spoke simply, but seemed to know everything. He was beautiful, but kind. He reminded Sara of herself. Or of the person she might become, when finally, all said and done, she could find peace in the losses she had overcome. He was a few years older than her, and she wondered if, a few years ago, he might have held any of the bitterness she did. That his calm might be new, a recent addition to an already sound personality. His demeanour suggested not, that he had always been this way, and that people had always loved him for it.

He asked her questions, but not too many. He was interested, but not invasive. He nodded, listening intently when she spoke. He looked right into her eyes, and responded with enthusiasm or sensitivity to everything she said. He had emotion, but under control. He was unafraid, she thought, and that was what made him so attractive. _Attractive?_ she repeated in her head, feeling sure her inner monologue had made some awful error. _Attractive_. There it was, the feeling in the pit of her stomach that she had hoped desperately would not come. She wrestled with herself, frustrated inside, wanting to leave, but also to stay. Wanting the conversation to go on long into the night, but never to have to face what was becoming slowly clear. When Drew left, she would be sorry. _Damn, _she thought, _how did that happen?_ He got out of his seat, picking up both their cups in one hand, asking if she wanted a refill. She nodded, more aware of the fact that his free hand had touched her arm when he spoke than what he had actually said.

It felt strangely nice. Not like the rare moments when Grissom laid a hand on her. How rare they were, she reminded herself, and how incidental, usually. They burned. With the knowledge that he would scarcely have let it happen if he'd been thinking. With the certainty that he would feel scalded, too, and remind himself never to do that again, instead of thinking how nice it might feel. He treated her like a leper, like a hot surface, something he had to watch himself around, be wary of. Drew's hand reminded her that she was just a woman, and she so _badly_ wanted to be touched. Drew went to the counter, and ordered their coffees. Her heart, against her better judgement, sank when he asked for them to go. _To go._ She sighed. There it was, the mutant sentiment she could not beat down – she didn't want this moment to end, and it was about to, and she was altogether not happy about that.

"I'm sorry, " he said, returning with the steaming cups, but I have to get to work." Sara checked her watch.

"So do I," she realised. She stood, put on her jacket and followed him out to the parking lot. She had left her car around the side of the lot, away from the main door, an old habit she found hard to break. She didn't like to be under too close a scrutiny. As they passed his car, she turned to take her coffee from him, but he shook his head lightly and walked on to hers. He placed both cups on the roof of her car and looked down at her.

"I can't tell you what a pleasure this has been, Sara." He smiled, and she happily registered that he had been having as good a time as she was.

"No, really, the pleasure's mine." His smile twisted slighty at the side of his mouth.

"Do you know how often I go to Frank's?"

"No."

"About twice a year."

"Really?" She wasn't sure she knew what he meant. That it was unlikely that they'd meet? That it was lucky? "I go all the time."

"So, maybe if I'd made my two visits in January instead of saving one til October I'd have met you a whole lot sooner." She thought back to January.

"I wouldn't have been such good company in January."

"I doubt that."

"Not so willing, then." He nodded, as if he knew exactly what she was talking about.

"Because of Grissom?" She was speechless for a moment. How could he..?

"Nick's made mention of it." _What?_ She would kill him.

"Mentioned what?"

"Only that you two have history. I'm just guessing here." He didn't seem to be hedging, seemed only to know what he claimed to know, and he wasn't using it against her. He seemed, if this was at all possible, to understand.

"It's…" She sighed, unable to say anything more lucid than that. Somehow this ruined things. She didn't want him to know about that, to know that side of her.

"You don't have to explain, at all. It's none of my business. " There was that hand on her arm again. His eyes were deep, imploring her not to hate him for bringing it up. She didn't, only hated herself for not having a quick, simple answer.

"Nick shouldn't have said anything."

"Sara, everyone has a past.." She nodded, knowing he was right. For the first time, she quite liked the term _history_ applied to Grissom. Implying that she could move on, implying that they had negotiated the worst of it, implying that she was well entitled to enjoy the feel of Drew's hand on her elbow. The lightest touch.

"I was just wondering because.. I mean, if it _is _history.. I'd love to see you again."

His hand went to her waist then, and he moved, not more than half an inch, but definitely closer to her. She looked up at him, realising as she did that her past was not a side of her. It was all of her, and he wasn't afraid of it.

"I want it to be history," she said. His other hand found her waist on the other side, and she put hers on him, feeling the fabric of his sweater where it covered the waistband of his jeans. It didn't feel wrong at all.

"Good enough." When he kissed her, she stopped thinking. It was slow and delicate, and reminded her after what felt like, no, what actually _was,_ years, how much she loved to be kissed.


	3. Chapter 3

_Dislclaimer: They're not mine, although I'd love them to be. I own nothing but these words._

Small Swords Chapter Three

When she got to work, Sara waited for reality to dawn. She deliberately walked into Grissom's office, expecting the old shot to the stomach that she feared would hit her. Guilt, mixed with anger at him for never quite getting his act together. Nothing came, and as she waited for it and waited for him to look up, she realised that the longer he took to notice she was there, the less she cared. Eventually he greeted her, and then rushed straight off to the toxicology lab. Barely a word, barely a look. Sara ran a finger over her lips and in spite of herself hoped that today was not a one off.

Grissom rushed down the hall at an unnecessarily rapid pace. There was nothing terribly urgent in the results he was waiting for, and he could have spared Sara a minute or two. But the way she had approached the office, the way she had stood there, the way she had looked, had unnerved him. Something was different, and he did not wish to stick around and find out what it was. Something in his bones told him she had seen that man. And that was a result he was in no hurry at all to have confirmed.

Sara spent the next couple of weeks waiting for Drew to screw up, or waiting for him to behave impeccably in such a way as would prompt her to screw up. When she had spent four perfectly pleasant lunches with him, she became suspicious that it wasn't going to happen. He was just so laid back, she couldn't fault him. He called when he said he would, and not before. He offered to drive and pay approximately half of the time, not through any calculation she was aware of, but through some haphazard sense of what kept things comfortable. He made her laugh, in spite of herself, and his kisses left her breathless for more. It took at least three dates for it to occur to her that she was, in fact, being well and truly romanced. A few more for her to admit that it felt good.

It was also simple. Drew took her out and kept her company and made her feel good and never alluded to a bigger picture. There was no spiralling towards an inevitable relationship, no physical burgeoning in his kisses which might tip her off to his fading restraint. He just enjoyed her company, and talked, and listened, and became, gradually, a fixture in her life that she wasn't altogether unhappy with. It allowed Sara not to think about what it all might mean. She told herself that if he disappeared tomorrow she would be fine.

She saw very little of Grissom. At work, of course, but it was a busy few weeks and he had a court date that lasted most of it. He called to hand out assignments. He talked to Catherine who talked to the rest of them. He called Sara once, as she was driving home from work, to enquire how her case was going. His tone was light, and hers was lighter, and it kept them from thinking beneath or beyond the work.

The benefit of dating a cop, she soon realised, was the shift patterns. They were very similar to hers, and it gave him a variety of times off, always one that would coincide nicely with her schedule, and they changed often enough that she still got time to herself. It was this that led Sara into the fire. On a beautiful Vegas morning she pushed through the front door of the lab and strode casually towards her car, thinking ahead to the breakfast she was about to share with Drew. She had about twenty minutes to kill. No rush, but somewhere to go. She loved that feeling. It was, she had been forced to recently admit, far superior to a long, weary day of her own company stretching out ahead of her.

As she stepped off the kerb into the lot a car swung quickly in to her right. She looked up to see Grissom sliding the gearshift into place and getting out. She reached her own car and put her kit in the trunk.

"Hey," he called out to her. She shut the trunk and idled towards him a few steps as he approached.

"Is it over?" she asked, realising this was the first time she had actually laid eyes on him in almost two weeks. The sun was in her eyes, and she didn't catch the dip in his stride as she said it.

_Over_? He hated the sound of the word as soon as she said it. He knew she was talking about the case he was trying, but it hit home regardless. _I wonder_, he thought.

"Finally," he replied, coming to a halt a few feet from her. She nodded, squinting slightly at the glare. It was warm, and she liked being outdoors after a night in the lab.

"Result?"

"Twenty five to life." It had been a hell of a few weeks. Worth it all, though, he told himself again, as he had been telling himself the entire drive back to work, beating back his desire to sleep and shower.

"Congratulations, " Sara said, smiling at him. She knew how much faith and pride he placed in the justice system, and how seriously he took his part in it. Seriously as… well, yes, as she did. Just one more point on the list of things they had in common. Her shoulders sagged momentarily and she felt a pang of regret. _Stop it,_ she told herself, calling to mind an image of the pleasant, easy morning she would soon be beginning with Drew. Grissom was looking at her. He looked so tired, she thought. She wanted to hug him, to reach out and envelop him in her arms, just to make him feel a little better. _Not for any reason but_, she scoffed inwardly. _I am over that._ _Over._

Grissom narrowed his eyes as though he could read her.

"You look well, Sara" he said, and his tone said something she could not decipher.

"I just closed the high school case," she said, nodding, as though that accounted for it. She knew, and he was starting to see, that for once work had nothing to do with how she was. It was a new dimension, and they were not good at it.

"Good," he said, and turned to look at the front door as though it beckoned him. As he did it opened to release Greg and Nick into the sun soaked lot. Seeing them, they began their approach as Sara felt inexplicably lost, as though there were something else she was desperate to say or hear before they reached earshot, but she had no idea what that might be. Then it was too late, and Nick was clapping Grissom on the back and exclaiming how quiet the lab had been without him.

"We're taking you to breakfast, boss," he said, leaving no room for argument.

"Damn right, " Greg seconded, turning to Sara. _Shit_, she thought, _please don't ask me._

"You coming?" Greg asked. Nick smiled, and she thought for a wonderful moment that he was going to save her.

"She can't. She's got plans. Right?" Nick grinned to himself as he cranked open the can, and turned to head towards his car as the worms spewed forth all around Sara's feet.

Grissom looked at her, waiting for her to confirm or deny. His heart began to pound a loose tune in his chest. It was clear that Nick knew of Sara's plans, which suggested only one thing. Sara sucked in her breath. She could not pretend that it wasn't glaringly obvious.

"Right," she said, quietly. Grissom nodded imperceptibly.

"Right," he whispered, and turned to go.

Sara watched him walk away, feeling a tightness in her chest that she could neither believe nor accept. _He doesn't want me, _she reminded herself, placating the rising panic within her. _He doesn't. That's not what that was. He's tired, and probably disappointed. _In what, though?_ In my weakness_, she chastised herself. _He'd like nothing more than for me to spend my whole life alone, wedded to work. It's what he considers natural._

When Grissom slid into the booth opposite Greg and Nick, he was already irritated by the chatter. He thought, against all his usual dismissal of the subject, how nice it must be to want to spend your life any way but alone.

Sara arrived five minutes late for breakfast. She stood outside Drew's door, waiting for the sound of footsteps, summoning strength and resolve and trying to cool the raging unrest she felt. When he opened the door, keys and jacket in hand, it was not the coldness she had dreaded that rose up within her. She pushed him back inside and kicked the door shut. She grasped at his shirt and felt an uncontrollable surge of emotion, something she could neither define nor stem, and she found herself sailing over a boundary she had been terrified to cross. Any man but Grissom was not a man she had ever seen herself with. In her dreams and terrors it was only his face, and as she waded out into the middle of something alien, she realised how much she liked not knowing. His smell, the tone of his skin, the shape of his shoulders beneath his shirt. Nothing that she had ever wanted, and for that she wanted it all the more.

Amazed, taken by surprise, Drew eventually gathered himself enough to slow her rush. He picked her up in both arms and laid her gently down on the couch, leaning in to caress her neck as she, more steadily now, unbuttoned his shirt, thinking of nothing at all but the feel of the fabric and plastic between her fingers.

Later, when they lay side by side on Drew's bed, the covers kicked to the floor and their clothes still somewhere in the other room, the guilt descended. Sara bit her lip as she felt the feeling take her. She slipped her hand out of Drew's and got up in search of the bathroom. It was the first time she had been in this apartment, and she wanted to run away. Not that she had not languished in the pleasure she had felt. Not that she hadn't welcomed him into her personal space, feeling hungry for him as he was for her. Not that she hadn't felt the tension ebb and seep away as she relaxed afterwards. Not that he wasn't the epitome of sweetness. But a dark hand in her mind swept all these things to one side and presented her with the one resounding, overwhelmingly unfair sin she had allowed herself to indulge in. As she came, as she lay beneath him letting the waves rock her, a sensation she was surprised to find she had missed, she looked up at him and it was someone else's face she saw.


	4. Chapter 4

_Dislclaimer: They're not mine, although I'd love them to be. I own nothing but these words._

Small Swords Chapter Four

Grissom sat down at the table in the break room, joining his already assembled team. They were mid-way through a discussion on a case, and he listened as they reasoned and rationalised the possible theories. He enjoyed the way they related to one another, the balance they struck between dismissing and challenging one another's ideas. He admired them for always having ideas – the hardest part of their job was having a better imagination than even the most ingenious murderer.

Sara was on form, proffering again and again insightful and interesting ideas. She had a thick file in front of her on the desk, what they had gathered so far, and she frequently opened and thumbed through it, looking for the missing links, the evidence they may have already unknowingly connected that would close the gap. Her eyes were bright and Grissom tried not to wonder why.

Grissom watched her fingers slide lightly around the coffee cup in front of her. Each one flexed and contracted slowly as she allowed them relief from the heat emanating from the mug. He thought how achingly perfect she was. How her fingers were so slender, so useful, so adept, and so unassuming as they gratefully cradled the coffee. He let his eyes wander briefly up to her face, seeing the colour begin to return as she sipped, in need of the caffeine. She caught his eye, and smiled, her beautiful, close-lipped smile, lasting just one second longer than he could bear. _Oh God,_ he thought. _You have me_.

Sara moved her fingers slowly, deliberately, trying to give off an air of control when inside pieces were crashing down in spectacular fashion. He was looking at her, so unfettered, so raw, and she was afraid that the rest of the team sitting at the table would surely see. _I am in so much trouble, _she thought._ Sleeping with one man, in love with another. Shit._ Sleep_ing_ wasn't an accurate description, really, when it had so far been a one off. Since that hot morning, when she had showered and stepped back into the same clothes, when she had told herself that she wouldn't do that again unless it felt right. What she really meant by that was if it felt better, because as much as she wanted to, she couldn't kid herself that it had felt completely right the first time. _In _love wasn't an accurate description either, she told herself. She saw it as more like clawing her way out of love, coming out the other side, slowly, aching all the while. She had only seen Drew once since, in a two hour oasis between the end of her shift and the beginning of his, and he had been too much of a gentleman to suggest going back to his place.

She was seeing him tonight, though. Her night off. His, too, as luck would have it. She wondered if the moment would arise. There would be dinner, and probably wine. She wondered what she would do, in the heat of the moment. She had surprised herself on so many counts already, she couldn't be sure that she wouldn't again. She reasoned that she should probably address the issue, at least talk to Grissom before tonight. No doubt he would say something conflicting and unhelpful that would remind her of all the reasons why he remained something she had never got near.

She sighed, lacing her fingers together around the mug, feeling the much-needed caffeine reach her vital organs and start things moving again, and thanked something like a God that there was work, loyal, reliable work, as a shield from all of her thoughts and feelings. As if there was any question as to why she had chosen such a consuming career.

After the long meeting had dispersed, several new ideas being eagerly followed up by members of the team, Grissom retired to his office to turn his attention to the large caseload on his desk. The 'pending' pile was always his least favourite, producing cases that were either deemed unsolvable, or where some delay or other had moved them to the back of the pile, or where there was simply no more evidence to be processed. Now and again he took this pile to pieces, read and re-read them all, painstakingly re-assessing every aspect, hoping to have missed something that might shed new light on one of them. Usually he kept one or two out and did some more work on them. Today, he found nothing. Not a thing jumped out at him as he tried to concentrate on the minutiae.

When Sara knocked, he was glad of the distraction and snapped his gaze up to find her standing quietly in the doorway. Their eyes met and there was a moment of agreement between them, that all was not well. That something needed to be said. That the unspoken mountain between them that had stood silent and solid for so many years that they had so recently conquered was beginning to move.

"Hi," she said, with a small smile.

"Hi Sara." She looked at her hands. The hands that had felt new and different skin and hair. Grissom waited as she formed the words in her mouth.

"Would it ever have happened between us?"

He slid his glasses down his nose and off, wanting to remove all barriers between them that he might look at her fully and assess just how much courage that had taken. She went on as he watched her.

" I know this isn't what you want to hear, and I don't mean to make things awkward, or drag it all up, I just .. I just need a yes or no."

Grissom sighed, a long exhalation of air that seemed not to end but to slow into his shallow breathing as he considered this, and wondered how he could answer, when all that they had ever been was both yes _and_ no. The sum of them was that he had never been able to successfully put paid to his doubts and she had never been able to successfully accept defeat. He loved her for it, sometimes, when he was thankful that there was someone who would fight for him, and then he cursed her for it, too, when he just wished that whatever this was would die, and stop chastising him as he longed to creep back into his protective shell.

Grissom sensed that this was coming from the Sara covering new ground with someone than the Sara who had waited in darkness for him her whole life. He sensed that she needed release, to put things aside before proceeding in whatever it was that she was now sharing with a man who was not him. Grissom knew he had no-one to thank or blame for that but himself. This conversation was for her happiness, not his, he thought, and he answered accordingly.

"No. I don't think it ever could have."

There was a long pause in which their eyes held on desperately to the moment, clinging to the last vestiges of hope before Sara wrenched hers away, nodding quietly.

"Thank you."

That night, she didn't need wine. She had cried, briefly, alone as she got ready for her evening. It had been both a relief and a shock to hear what she had always assumed was true. It would never have happened. The finality of it was liberating, if devastating.

By the time she arrived at Drew's apartment, she felt free. He cooked her a wonderful dinner, put her completely at ease with his usual easy chatter, and when he kissed her deeply her body surrendered before her mind had chance to think twice. This time as she reached the brink she saw only white heat. When it was over, Drew lay one arm across her waist and stroked the skin over her ribs. Kissing her softly, he smiled.

"I could get used to this," he said, and Sara smiled, marvelling at the lack of inner dialogue she was experiencing.

She was fine until she got into the shower. The pounding of the water, the heat and the solitude of the frosted cubicle conspired to bring her down. Closing her eyes to let the water run down her face, she was struck by an image of Grissom, sitting at his desk as she had left him earlier. She blinked the water away, willing the picture to fade. Leaning back against the tiles she saw him again. She saw him many times, as she had over the years, trying to articulate something to her, something difficult. Those times when she had been sure he had some feelings and had struggled to accept that none were forthcoming. Sara sank down into the shower tray, dismay creeping in, as she thought of all the time she had wasted, in love with Grissom. Years of her life spent waiting, watching, wanting a man who didn't know how to be in love. She wondered if someone had told her back then where she would end up.. but she hadn't had that luxury.

It didn't take too long to dawn on her, and once it had she couldn't shake it. She stayed in the shower until her fingers wrinkled and then towelled off and dressed, not in the robe Drew had given her but in her own clothes. She found him mixing drinks in the kitchen.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he replied, turning to kiss her with a tumbler of ice in one hand. She froze as his lips touched hers, and he felt it.

"What?"

"I think I should go." He put down the tumbler.

"Why?"

"I'm sorry, but this isn't going to work." He looked at her for a long moment and she knew that he understood. His eyes were clear as he spoke.

"I shouldn't ask why, should I?" She shook her head, and recalled the moment in the coffee shop parking lot when she had wanted so much to make Grissom history. She had failed, and she was leaving Drew more than a little sore.

"I really am sorry."

"Sara, like I said before. Everyone has a past. If it's still got a hold on you, well, I'd rather know now."

"That's what I thought."

"This sucks," she said, meaning it. "You just might be the greatest guy I've ever met." He snorted with laughter.

"Obviously that's not true, is it?"

"Oh, him? No he's an ass. Apparently I'm unable to resist them."

There was a long silence as the reality of what she was doing burned with the embers of the joke they had gallantly tried to make of it. She felt guilty and scared, forcing herself out into the cold again, knowing that this was not a choice between two lovers as much as it was a choice between the substitute and the solitude of what was unrequited.

"Hey," he said, hugging her tightly, "no hard feelings." His voice darkened, and she knew she would leave a mark, however slight, and however well he was taking it. A solitary tear escaped Sara's eye as she pulled away from him.

Half an hour later, Sara was virtually kicking the door down. She was mad, and it didn't even occur to her that he might not be home. After a few loud pounding knocks he pulled the door open, incredulous as to the noise that she had created. Such a small person, such a lot of rage, he reminded himself.

"Sara.?" She pushed past him, not waiting for an invitation.

"You said it never could have happened."

"Come in," he said, closing the door behind her. She ignored his sarcasm. She had never been less in the mood for his bad jokes. 'Soy sorry' would have gone down a treat.

"Why didn't you tell me that a year ago? Or five years ago? Or at any point during these years I have wasted wondering if this is ever going to happen. Do you know I haven't had a proper relationship since I met you? Do you know how long that is?"

Grissom scratched his beard thoughtfully.

"Ah, it's none of my business, but aren't you seeing someone now?" Sara threw her hands into the air, gesticulating wildly. She was wound up, he could see, and he was partly alarmed, partly entranced by it.

"Over before it began, as usual."

"I don't…"

"No-one gets off the starting block, Grissom. Do you know why?"

"Sara.."

Sara paused. Her guns were drawn. _What the hell,_ she thought. If she was going down, she would go down fighting.

"Because of you! Because I am in love with _you_." She let that hang in the air for a moment before driving it home. " There, that's something I should have said years ago." He was stunned into silence. She seemed suddenly deflated. She paced slowly. He struggled to form a coherent sentence, still reeling from the admission. I mean, sure, he'd imagined, but to think how it would have felt to hear her say that..

"Why didn't you?" She looked at him sharply. " No, you say I should have saved you the trouble but you never _told_ me how you felt."

"Oh my.. Grissom, don't even go there. I have laid myself on the line _way_ too many times. You've had so many chances to tell me to forget it once and for all."

"Right!"

"What do you mean, right?"

"Why do you think I haven't done just that, Sara? Has it ever been that simple?"

"No, it's definitely never been simple. It's simple for me, I know what I want. But you give all these mixed messages, and we get nowhere. And meanwhile there's this amazing man that I really like and who wants to be with me and somehow I can't do it."

"Why not? I thought that's what today was all about." Sara sighed, wondering how much more grief to give him before going home to wallow.

"How could I? I don't want him to waste a year, or two or three years of his life. I know what that's like."

"Do you think this is a _waste_?"

"If all in all it comes to nothing, then yeah, I do."

His heart sank.

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

Sara began to grow conscious of the way she had barged in on him. Feeling that their conversation wasn't getting anywhere anyway, she turned to leave.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I said anything at all. Ever." She saw him wince as those words hit home, but didn't allow herself to feel bad as she left, as quickly as she had arrived. Grissom was left feeling stripped, shocked and wishing she would come back. His home felt suddenly empty without her.


	5. Chapter 5

_Dislclaimer: They're not mine, although I'd love them to be. I own nothing but these words._

Small Swords Chapter Five

Sara arrived for work the next day feeling sheepish. She wished she hadn't been quite so honest with Grissom, or that she had stayed to explain a little better why she was so upset. She avoided him as best she could for the first half of her shift. When a call came in for a double homicide in Henderson, she, Warrick and Grissom went. Upon their arrival there was a road block in place, and Warrick got out to talk to the officers on the scene before they proceeded to the primary scene. As the door closed on them, Grissom took a deep breath, and turned to her.

"You're right, there are things I should have said to you. Yesterday I should have told you that the only reason I said it couldn't ever have happened was because I thought that was what you wanted to hear, I thought that would make things easier for you, and I wanted you to be happy. And in the spirit of being clear about things, the reason that I want you to be happy is because I do have very deep feelings for you. There. I should have said that years ago."

As she turned to register what he had said, Warrick opened the passenger door once more. Sara had no time to respond, only to mentally stagger about, wondering if she had heard him correctly. They were not alone again for the rest of the shift, as the double homicide was quickly revealed to be a triple with the discovery of a third body in the garage.

Five hours later Grissom was at his desk, once more giving a little time to the 'pending' pile, picking out a few files to look at anew the following day. He was tired, and ready to call it a day.

Sara sauntered into view, a half smile forming on her lips as she sat down opposite him. She placed a case file on the desk.

"Lab work."

"Thank you. Any surprises?"

"Not so far. One victim left to be processed, but there's a backlog. We'll know more tomorrow."

"Good." She rose from her seat.

"Are you done for the day?"

"Yes. I need to go home. I need a shower, and bed."

He nodded, looking down at the desk. She was at the door, not gone yet.

"You coming?" Her voice was so low, almost husky, and it drove him a certain kind of crazy. He blinked in surprise. She just looked at him, and he wondered what he had missed.

"You said you wanted a shower and bed." He was confused, lingering on the brink of something, closing in on a break, and she was playing with him. It felt delicious, if a little dangerous. She stood in the doorway, her dark eyes ablaze as she closed those slender fingers around the door handle and he would have done anything to be steel beneath her hands.

"That is what I want," she said, her tone commanding. Her eyes asked him to open his mind a little, and he was shocked by the flood of images he was soon wading through.

"I'm just wondering if you're going to be joining me."

It was all that he could do not to rise from his seat and dash her into the wall. He restrained himself, instead closing his eyes momentarily to imagine himself push her gently but fervently into the glass of his office wall and kiss her, maybe even take her, where she stood. He opened his eyes and he was still in his chair, she was still leaning nonchalantly against the door jamb.

"I'll be along in a while, " he managed, his own voice hoarse now.

He made himself wait twenty minutes before he rose from his desk, his pulse racing before he even started the car. He drove slowly and carefully, stopping only to pick up a token bottle of wine. He wasn't sure if it seemed presumptuous, but he didn't much care. He wasn't going to arrive empty handed, when so much awaited him.

She opened the door slowly, the sound echoing down the quiet hallway of her building. She moved aside to let him in, taking the bottle from him as he did, smiling at his etiquette.

She closed the door, and turned. He stood in her living room, his hands hunched in his jacket pockets, waiting, but not awkwardly. She watched him for a moment, her back against the solid wood of the door. He was beautiful.

Grissom stood, not uncomfortably, in the middle of the room, which was lit only from the light above the island in the kitchen. He watched Sara watch him, and felt certain that something explosive was happening to them. The air seemed thick, the breeze cool but charged, as though a storm was brewing. Behind him a curtain billowed, he could just hear the gentle swatch of the fabric as it moved. It was perfect, he realised, in its incongruity. He didn't move. She didn't move, and he took a long, luxurious moment to take in every inch of her. She was beautiful.

Sara placed the bottle in the cooler and turned once more to face him, this time taking a step. Another followed, and in what felt like hours, she picked a slow path across the room towards him. With every movement he felt the reasons why they never had shrink into petty excuses. He had been so sure that this would hurt, or that it would be a wrench, an effort to separate himself from the cold, hard world of proof and fact he was safe within. He stood now on the edge of warm abandon, and it felt so good. He smiled, unable to take his eyes from her as she came within three feet. Her arms were still by her sides as she stood before him, asking for nothing and promising the universe. She took a deep breath and the muscles beneath her tank top rippled. Something deeper within him stirred, and he let out a breath too.

He took the last few steps and one after the other they ran hands over arms onto shoulders into necks and up to finger strands of hair. He couldn't remember the way a woman's hair felt, as though there had been no woman but her. She tugged on his hair so gently and again he felt himself stir inwardly. This was no mere moment. This was life, as life was meant to be, and he was letting it happen. No, he was helping it along, he realised, as he smoothed his thumb over Sara's cheek. She passed her tongue lightly over her lips at his touch.

Their kiss was serious, a long, intoxicating moment in which nothing else registered. Sara didn't start it, but she gratefully took the gentle invitation he issued, taking her bottom lip between his teeth for just a milisecond, but far too long for her to recover from. Wild horses couldn't have pulled her from him as she returned the kiss, her breath mixing with his as his hands came to rest on her waist. His fingers pulled lightly at her as she pressed her mouth against his, running her tongue along his bottom lip in return. He was sure that she would feel the shudder that left him.

Sara felt him tremble, and pulled back, knowing that the point of no return loomed not far from where they were. She took his patient hands in her own and brought them up to her face, examining them closely, shocked and amazed by the sight of their fingers entwined together. There could be no other way, now, she knew. Forward or fall. She led him away from their kiss, from one private place into another. Grissom lamented the loss of her touch, but was soon placated as he stepped into the bathroom behind her. It looked like a hundred candles. Later, upon closer inspection, he would see that many of them lined the mirror tiles along one wall, making ten seem like fifty.

"I changed my mind about the shower," she said, and stood back to reveal the bath full of water. If there had ever been a moment when Grissom had doubted Sara's intentions, it was long gone. There was not a second's hesitation as she began to slowly undress him. He basked in the feeling of her hands on him, and in the darkness there was no awkwardness, no shy reluctance to be the first to let their work clothes fall to the hardwood floor. She stood in her underwear as his fell away, and she gestured for him to get in. He did, watching her walk away in just a bra and knickers, in quiet awe. He sank back into the warm water, closing his eyes. When he opened them she was slipping in to the bath in front of him, her long, slim back just inches from his chest. In her hand was a glass of the wine he had brought. Beside his right cheek was another, placed delicately on the side of the bath.

As she leaned back into seven years of watching and waiting, Sara felt for the first time her naked skin touch his. She wasn't ready for it, even now, even after all. A tear raced to her eye, idly forming a pocket of moisture that would, she knew, soon spill over. She didn't care. He had seen her tears before. This, however, was new, and as she tilted her head back into his chest she felt his arms snake around her waist below the level of the water, inches from her breasts.

It was beautiful. It was something she would never forget as long as she would live. It was the pay off for all of the days and nights she had been left wondering and hoping and chastising herself for doing anything of the sort. For all the looks given and received and all the action not taken.

At least, she thought it was. She hadn't reckoned on what came next.

After a long hour soaking in the warm water, they gave in to the need for more wine and dry land. Sara rose first, dripping suds and soap all over him. She stepped into a warm towel and held one out for him, too. They stood, silently absorbing the beauty of the situation, the occasional drip sounding on the floor. Sara's hair fell in loose waves down her back, damp and sweet smelling.

"I'm glad you're here," she said quietly, brushing her hair back.

"Me, too," he replied, and touched her cheek gently.

Sara left him to towel off and padded into the kitchen to refill their glasses. The wine had cooled significantly, and slipped deliciously down her throat as she stood and drank. A single bead of wine escaped and ran down her chin. As she lifted her towel to catch it, she felt his arms come around her, taking the towel from her grasp. It fell to the floor as she turned in his arms. He kissed her face, moving slowly down her neck, tasting water and wine and the skin he had craved for so long.

It felt like hours before her back made contact with the cool sheets of her bed. They had inched and kissed their way there, each step a moment of great discovery. They seemed to become encased in one skin as they got closer and closer, the air between their bodies not enough to breathe. Grissom stroked her cheek as he kissed her, the full length of his body covering hers. She had never felt so alive, and the pulse that raced through her echoed in her ears along with his words. Without looking away, without a moment's hesitation or distraction, he said;

"I have always loved you."

As they moved together, slowly, each tiny movement a groundbreaking stride, the battles they had fought began to leave them. They laid down their arms. The war was over, and they were coming, coming home.

End.

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